The Boy in the Library
by TARDISTraveller
Summary: Clara is content. She is studying English at a university she loves; she has a whole future of traveling and teaching planned. But when she meets John Smith, an older, mysterious Physics major who is much bigger on the inside, her whole life is about to be flipped upside down. A Whouffaldi College AU story.
1. The Boy in the Library

Chapter One

The Boy in the Library

Clara picked a roaming copy of The Great Gatsby off of the shelf and blew the dust off of its cover. How her fellow students got to Lambert University without knowing the alphabet was beyond her, but she let that train of thought go with a sigh. Sorting the books at least gave her something to do. Being a library assistant when nobody needed assistance, or, even, the library, was proving rather dull.

As she rolled her cart down to the central hall, she noticed that not a single person sat at any of the large conference tables. The only person in the room was Ms. Guzzle, the head librarian. Like always, she was peering at a computer screen from behind large red spectacles.

The spectacles shifted her way, and Clara instantly made herself look busy, turning to a shelf and running her hands against the spines of the books.

A smile played at her lips as the familiar sensation of old leather rubbed along her fingertips. It had been a long summer holiday, and she was almost glad to be back here, in her element.

She could escape her father's strange series of girlfriends, at least. That was a gift in itself.

A pang of homesickness hit her as she thought of her dad. For a moment, she considered sending a quick text, but Ms. Guzzle's wandering eye brought her hands back to the book cart. She wheeled into a nearby aisle and stopped only when she was out of sight of the librarian.

Her hands whipped her phone out of her pocket and she sent a quick 'hello, what's up' message to her dad. With a little smile playing at her lips, she added a few emojis at the end for good measure. Then she slipped the phone back into her pocket.

Ms. Guzzle would never know her pious assistant had texted on the job. Clara smirked to herself as she brushed her bangs back and looked down the aisle she'd escaped into. Science fiction, if the aliens and time machines inscribed in the covers were to be trusted.

Her eye landed on a figure at the end of the aisle; a man sat at a desk, poring over almost as many books as Clara had in her entire cart. He seemed to be older than most of the students she typically saw on campus, closer to thirty than twenty. His pencil moved through long, twiddling fingers, voice low as he murmured discernible gibberish to himself.

With his Doc Martens tapping restlessly against the floor and his hair a wild mess standing in three different directions, Clara could see he was not having the easy Saturday everyone else seemed to be enjoying.

"No!" He shouted suddenly into the air, snatching up a bit of notebook paper and crumpling it into a ball. He tossed it behind him haphazardly.

Clara jumped back, alarmed, but slowly drew closer with a mix of curiosity and worry.

"You alright there?" She asked.

His head jerked toward her, eyebrows lowering. But then he turned back to his work and started scribbling fast and hard.

"I'm fine," he said firmly. "It's just that the stupid laws of the universe don't make sense."

Clara widened her eyes, raising her brows, and went back to the book cart.

"Okay," she said, drawing out the word. "Good luck with that."

As she retreated, she thought she heard a muttered 'thanks', but she could've very well been imagining it. Her eyes shut as she realized her own awkwardness.

''Good luck with that'?,' she thought to herself. 'What kind of weird rubbish was that, Clara?'

She shook the memory out of her head and got back to work, sorting books and scanning barcodes.

. . .

Just as the sun was reaching its peak, Clara was released from her shift and rushed outside to get a spot on the lawn. Her favorite tree was already taken by some younger students, most likely first-years, but she soon found a nearby tree perfect for reading. Satisfied, she set down her bag and sat cross legged in the grass.

A little ways away, a group of boys tossed around a frisbee. In the other direction, a couple lay in each other's arms. Clara smiled at the scenes surrounding her, something out of a painting, and leaned back easily into the soft grass to drink in the moment.

After a few minutes of pure bliss and contemplation, Clara dug into her bag for Canterbury Tales. It wasn't her favorite novel, and it wasn't for her favorite class either, but she knew she'd have to make herself read it eventually.

It was good practice for her teaching days, she supposed, if she chose to go that route. Then she could really have the high ground when her students 'didn't feel' like doing her readings.

Her imaginary future brought a smile to her face as she sunk into the bark of the tree. It was a perfect day, and a new enough term that she wasn't yet stressed and anxious about her marks. In fact, as she glanced around again, it seemed like nobody was stressed today.

Well, almost nobody.

A familiar man sat beneath the closest tree, still scribbling into his notebook furiously. If it were possible, his eyebrows looked even more cross. He hadn't even bothered to take his backpack off, pushing it into the tree trunk as he leaned back against it.

Clara put a page marker in her book and set it down beside her.

"Hello again," she said with a little smile.

His head darted up in that same peculiar way, like he wasn't used to people noticing or, perhaps, seeing him. He gave her a tiny smile, but with no recognition.

"Did you ever figure out that universe thing?"

His eyes lit up, realizing who she was, and a smile quirked his lip.

"Yes, I did." He looked back at his notebook. "But the universe is being a bit tricky again."

She peered over to look at his notes, a bunch of foreign images and words.

"It looks like a different language to me," she admitted. "Sorry; wish I could help."

He gave her one last smile and got back to work.

She couldn't help but watch him for a few minutes. He was so focused, even in this beautiful weather. She wondered what on Earth he could be working on that was so intricate within the first week of classes, but she decided not to ask. He didn't look like he wanted to be disturbed, and he seemed like he'd be fierce when angered.

She turned back to Chaucer and tried not to think about the universe-solver beside her, still writing and scratching and tearing at his notebook with what seemed like limited success.


	2. Full of Surprises

Chapter Two

Full of Surprises

Clara huffed as she climbed the third staircase in the science center, the tallest and most exhausting building on campus. It didn't help that she was carrying almost all of her books and a large metal hole-puncher. Nor that she barely knew her way around this building, with its strange turns and awkward angles.

She wondered for a moment if maybe a student had designed it; someone from the engineering department perhaps?

"This only works if it's bigger on the inside!" A voice shouted suddenly, shocking her out of her reverie.

Clara nearly dropped the hole-puncher as the sound echoed through the air. She looked around and found its source; that same boy from the library and the lawn, now sitting in one of the physics study rooms, alone again, working.

Clara rolled her eyes.

Was he just following her at this point? Or was she unconsciously following him? Whatever it was, she didn't like it. He seemed much too loud and much too intense for her.

Another familiar voice caught her off guard. Martha.

Thank God.

"Hey; I didn't expect to see you here," Martha said with a smile.

Clara held out the hole-puncher.

"I wanted to return this. Thank you so much, you're a lifesaver. Seriously."

"Maybe someday," Martha said with a cheeky grin, glancing down at her white lab coat. Her eye caught Clara's gaze and followed it into the physics study room.

"Ah. You've met John?"

John's head tilted at the mention of his name. Clara could feel her cheeks turn pink and instantly looked away from him.

"Er, not really."

Martha and Clara cast one last glance into the classroom, and then walked down the hall. They kept their conversation quiet until they had rounded the corner and entered the biology department.

Safe from earshot, Martha said, "I totally had a crush on him in our first year."

Clara's jaw dropped.

"No way."

Martha nodded with a smile.

"He's really a nice guy; once you get to know him."

Clara crossed her arms. "He seems a bit intense to me. All work, no play kind of person."

Martha tilted her head, debating.

"That's not totally true. That's just what he likes to front, I think." Martha checked her phone and cringed. "I have to get to lab. But I'll meet you at the cafe tomorrow night, yeah? I can't believe you've never been to their Friday night music night."

Clara shrugged.

"I've never seen the café after noon, I don't think."

Martha raised an eyebrow with a smile.

"Well, I think you're going to love it." She turned in to one of the biology labs. "See you later."

"See ya,"

Martha waved, and then hurried into her lab. Clara waited until she was situated inside, out of view, and then slowly turned to go back the way they'd come. Keeping light on her feet and staying near the wall, Clara crept down the hall toward the physics study room. When she reached it, she peaked inside carefully.

John was still there, quietly writing and reviewing his notes. He had two different textbooks open and both a graphing calculator and his phone calculator sitting on his desk. Clara smiled to herself, and then left with a small shake of the head before he could see her.

Whoever this John guy was, he was not her type at all. In fact, he was the very opposite of her type. All serious and moody. Why she was even still thinking about him was beyond her.

Then again, if Martha said he was alright, then maybe she should give him another chance.

. . .

When Clara pushed through the heavy glass doors of the café she'd visited almost every day in her school career hardly recognized it. In the early mornings when she typically came here, the building was empty and silent. The employees usually had weary eyes and blank stares, and the entire space had an atmosphere similar to a quiet bookstore or bedroom.

On this Friday evening, however, the vibe couldn't be more different.

The small room was crowded with students; some sitting, some standing, some dancing. Most had coffee, while others had drinks a bit stronger. A loud buzz of talking along with music coming from the usually empty stage made the little artisan café feel more like a club.

Her eyes caught Martha's, sitting at a booth against the wall and she went to her immediately. Just to get there, she had to push apologetically through a thick crowd of students.

"Hey," she said with a grateful smile as she reached Martha's table.

"Hey! I was starting to think you wouldn't make it," Martha replied, moving her purse so Clara could sit next to her.

"Ah, you know me. Can't pass up a coffee."

Clara looked around the room. For the first time, she noticed the singer stood on the stage; a girl in one of her creative writing classes. Her grin widened and she crossed her arms on the table.

Martha leaned forward so Clara could hear her.

"Hey, did I tell you? My mum and dad might actually let me go to Paris next summer holiday."

Clara's jaw dropped, her eyes lighting up in excitement for her friend.

"That is so cool. I've always wanted to see Paris."

"You've always wanted to see everywhere," Martha quipped, taking a sip of a fruity lemonade drink.

Clara's smile faltered, just at the corners, as she looked down at her arms.

"I will; someday. After I get my degree."

Martha set her drink down.

"Where's the first place you want to go?"

Clara's smile returned to its usual brightness.

"Gosh, anywhere. Maybe Rome. Or Morocco. I've heard they have the most amazing food."

Martha took another sip of her drink.

"Well, if you ever need a doctor to come along with you, you've got my number."

They shared a genuine smile, which was cut off only by a woman at the microphone.

"Thank you Jessica, that was lovely. Now, we have one last performance tonight. Let's give a warm welcome to 'The Lords of Time'!"

Clara gave Martha a raised eyebrow, to which she simply rolled her eyes.

"They've been going by that name for over a year now. Physics majors." She shook her head, but her smile lingered in good humor.

Clara watched a tall, lanky man in a pinstripe suit grab the microphone, while another in a bow tie took up the drum kit. To the right, their bass player stood with a heavy leather jacket even as everyone in the room sweated in shorts and tank tops. Clara nearly commented something to Martha, until a fourth figure dropped her jaw nearly to the floor.

It was John. Of bloody course it was him again.

Unlike his bandmates, he wore much simpler clothes; a black jacket on a white T-shirt, with black pants and those same black Doc Martens. He held an electric guitar, which was also, humorously enough, black and white.

He looked like he could've been straight out of an old television show; maybe a rock and roll film from the sixties.

Clara turned to Martha, who nodded.

"I told you," she said. "He's full of surprises."

Clara leaned forward as they started to play. It was so weird seeing him up there, fingers darting back and forth over the strings so nimbly. She noticed him tapping his foot again, but not in the anxious way he had done in the library. Now he was almost dancing to the beat of the music.

A sudden loud guitar riff echoed through the café as he began a solo. He seemed a completely different person, the way he carried himself on the stage. Clara was transfixed, almost unable to believe that this was the same guy she'd never seen actually smile, nor have any bit of fun in the three times she'd seen him.

Their song wasn't long; a little ballad with more instruments than vocals. At the end, Clara applauded them with a large smile on her face and a whoop of laughter. Then she put her hands on the table and pushed herself up.

"I'll be right back," she said to Martha, who raised an eyebrow as she sipped her drink again.

Clara navigated her way through the crowd, apologizing profusely. She found John easily; tall as he was, he stood out above most of the students. He was in a little nook beside the stage putting his guitar away.

Clara stood off to the side and watched him fiddle with his guitar case.

"Hello again," she said, leaning against the wall.

He turned to her sharply, but relaxed with a smile.

"The universe wants to bring us together, it seems," he said. Before she had been uncertain, but now it was clear that he was Scottish, speaking with an accent that brought an unconscious smile to her face.

Clara shook her head.

"I never would've pictured you in a band."

He looked at his guitar case.

"Just a bit of fun. Even I need a break from studying sometimes."

Clara held out her hand.

"Clara. I don't think we've ever introduced ourselves, have we?"

John shook her hand.

"John. What do you study?"

"English literature. I'm hoping to be a school teacher. What about you?"

His phone buzzed suddenly and he glanced at it with a flickering frown.

"I'm studying, er, physics. Third year."

Clara nodded, then looked back at her table. Martha was watching her in between the students, but she pretended to look at her phone when she caught Clara's eye.

"Do you want to join my friend Martha and me? We're just having some drinks."

He turned back to his phone, which was buzzing furiously now.

"Er, actually, I really have to go. Something came up at home and…"

Clara waved off the suggestion.

"That's fine. Totally. Maybe we can hang out some other time."

He flashed her a smile and started off, turning back just once more.

"Nice to meet you properly, Clara."

"You too, John," she replied with a nod of the head.

He disappeared quickly, lugging his guitar case after him. Clara watched until he was gone, and then shook her head.

John was proving much more interesting than she'd first thought.


	3. Errs and Errors

Chapter Three

Errs and Errors

When she returned to the café the next morning for her usual latte, Clara was shocked at how different the place felt. She had almost gotten used to the layers of students and the bombastic noise of the speakers last night. To see it quiet and empty again so soon was a bit jarring.

Kevin, the barista, started her order as soon as she walked in, and so by the time she was finished paying, the coffee was already finished. She smiled her gratitude and went to the sugar counter. As she pried the lid off of her coffee, the aroma took her away for a moment.

Then, yet again, that familiar voice brought her back again.

"Large black coffee. With triple espresso."

John's voice was rough, his eyes barely open under heavy lids. He yawned as Clara watched him rifle through his pockets for the correct change.

She went over to the counter holding a fiver.

"This one's on me, Kevin," she said, passing the note to the barista. He gave her the change and receipt before John could protest.

"You didn't have to do that," John said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "But thank you."

Clara gave him wide, caring eyes.

"Rough night?" She asked.

He sighed and went to the pick-up counter.

"What gave it away?"

She smiled softly as he grabbed his drink and muttered a thanks to Kevin.

"I'll see you later, then?" She asked as he departed.

"Mmhmm," he mumbled in reply. She wondered if he'd even properly registered what she said.

He was gone and she was on her way to her next shift at the library before she could wonder too much about his late night troubles.

. . .

She saw him once more that day, just four hours later.

She had finally been released from her duties stocking and restocking shelves and was walking through the lawn when she saw those Doc Martens passing by. His head and most of his body were hidden behind a large metal contraption he carried in his hands. She tilted her head at him for a moment, but then charged forward to get the Science Center door.

"Let me get that for you," she said, propping it open. He hurried inside and lowered the device so that he could see her.

"Ah, hello again, Clara."

She smiled at the way he said her name.

"What on Earth is that?" She asked, motioning to the metal in his hands.

"It's a thing. For physics lab. Brought it in for an experiment."

"Is that what kept you up all night?"

His face fell, eyes darkening. He paused for a moment before responding.

"Er, no; that was something else."

Their eyes danced toward each other for a minute. Clara stepped forward softly.

"If you ever need anything, I'm here. We keep running into each other anyway."

His lips tilted just slightly, but he didn't respond. She shifted on her feet.

"It's just...you're always alone."

"I'm fine," he cut her off sharply, then smiled as an afterthought to make up for his harsh tone.

"Okay; if you're sure," she said, not believing him for a second.

"I really have to get going," he said, glancing over his shoulder at an imaginary professor. "Nice seeing you."

He dashed off without another word, leaving Clara standing in the hall by herself. She frowned, and silently cursed herself for prying. With reddening cheeks, she turned away and left the Science Center behind her.

. . .

Clara didn't see John for the rest of the week.

Each day, this caused a little bit more anxiety to rise up in her so that, by the time Friday rolled around, she was properly worried. He had always seemed so tired and busy; she hoped he hadn't worked himself ill. And there was that night he'd not slept a wink. What had called him home so urgently?

But, as it was Friday, she had planned to meet up with Martha at the café again for music night. Last week had been a lot of fun, and maybe it would take her mind off of everything for a little while.

As if she could take her mind off of anything.

As she carried her coffee and Martha's lemonade over to their usual table, she spared secret glances over to the stage. The 'Lords of Time' hadn't performed yet, that she had seen, so there was still some hope that he was here.

She forced herself to focus on Martha as they drank their coffee and discussed their classes. As the third week of term closed, it seemed, everyone's classes were getting a bit harder and a bit more difficult to keep up with.

"I've got to memorize all of the bones in the hand by my Monday lab," Martha pined. "Plus I'm still working on a lab report from last week. It's all bloody piling up on me."

Clara nodded in sympathy.

"I know," she replied. "I have to make an entire teaching plan for one class and write a ten page paper by Wednesday morning or I'm sunk."

They each took a drink to pause their conversation. Clara's eyes flitted around the room instinctively, but still she saw no mess of curly hair or electric guitar.

"Hey, Martha, have you seen John this week?"

She nodded.

"He's been a bit of a hermit this week. But I passed him in the hall a few times. Why?"

Heat rose into Clara's cheeks, but she pushed it down.

"Er, just wondering. I think I might've gotten a bit too nosy last week. It seems like he's been avoiding me since."

Martha frowned.

"Yeah, he is a bit private. I think he only opens up to one person at a time. Anyone else, he acts all mysterious."

Clara smirked.

"How do you know all that?"

Martha brought her drink to her lips and chuckled.

"Told you. Had a mad crush on him for a while. Found out he wasn't really interested in me. Just the memory of someone else."

They each took another drink, thinking over her words.

As Clara lowered her coffee again, a woman went to the microphone and cheered on the last performer, a small first year carrying a banjo.

"And now let's welcome once again...The Lords of Time!"

Clara's eyes darted to the stage, alert and focused again. Those same three boys entered first, wearing the same odd fashions from last week. After a pregnant pause, John finally came up behind them.

He seemed much more lively than he had last time they'd spoken. He even waved at the crowd a bit and riffed on his guitar before they started. An unconscious smile crept onto Clara's lips.

Martha caught it easily.

"You are besotted."

Clara looked at her friend with mock surprise.

"I am not!"

Martha simply laughed with a shake of the head and leaned back into her seat.

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Smith."

Clara's brows furrowed.

"Smith?"

"His last name," Martha clarified.

Clara couldn't help but chuckle.

"John Smith? Seriously? Even his name is an alias?"

They shared another laugh as the band played. It was another punk-rock ballad, with just enough of a beat to keep the students dancing in their seats. When they were finished, Clara followed John with her eyes but didn't move.

Martha practically pushed her out of the booth.

"Go talk to him! I know you want to."

Clara cringed.

"I don't know. Last time…"

"Don't invent some big drama in your head. You were probably fine last time and he probably wants to talk to you. At least get his number."

Clara stood slowly, feeling more anxious than she had previously. Why was the thought of talking to him suddenly making her legs weak?

Somehow, her jelly legs made it through the tide of students and found him in that same little nook by the stage. He was just closing his guitar case when her shadow fell over him.

"Hey," she said simply.

He nearly tripped over his case as his bumbling legs stood up too quickly.

"Hello Clara. Er, about last week," he scratched the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have walked off like that. It was a rough weekend; personal stuff."

Clara shook her head.

"It's totally fine. I shouldn't have pried so much. We'd only just met."

John shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Clara tried not to notice that he was avoiding her gaze.

"I want to make it up to you," he said quickly, getting the words out fast. "Er, there's a book shop just west of campus. I was going to go with my roommate, but he's being a bit of a homebug and so I was wondering if you wanted to go instead."

Clara could almost hear his heart beating at the speed of light, and could definitely hear the breaks in his voice.

She tried not to enjoy his nervousness.

"I'd love that," she replied.

He grinned, the most genuine smile she'd seen him wear yet. It seemed to brighten up his entire person. He finally didn't look like he was carrying the world on his shoulders.

"Great. Excellent. It's a date. Er, uh, it's settled." He fished around his pockets for his phone. "We can swap numbers. Does Sunday work for you?"

Clara took out her own phone and nodded.

"Sunday's perfect."

They traded phones and added each other to their contact list. With two anxious grins, they returned their phones and looked over the new name sitting in their list.

"Clara Oswald," John read endearingly, with that Scottish lilt she loved so much.

"John Smith," Clara said in turn, raising an eyebrow.

"I know, I know. It is my real name, I promise."

"Okay, 'John Smith'," Clara winked, and then laughed. "I'll see you Sunday."

"See you," he replied.

Clara knew that, as she walked back to Martha, her heart was fluttering and her face was wearing a big, goofy smile. But she didn't seem to care.

She could only hope that this shy, mysterious boy was worth all the trouble.

Somehow she already knew that he was.


	4. First Date

**Thank you so much for your continued support! I'm having fun writing this, and I hope you're having fun reading. I'm starting school soon, so updates might become just a little bit less frequent, but it should still be 1-2 chapters a week. Again, thank you for reading and reviewing!**

Chapter Four

First Date

The café was quiet and peaceful on Sunday morning, but Clara felt more anxious than when the room had been buzzing like a club on Friday. As she stood waiting by the doorway, ten minutes before they had planned to meet, she could feel the nerves running through her system, making her heart pound in her ears.

She silently chided herself. They were only going to a bookstore. She'd been to plenty of bookstores. This wasn't even really a date; it was her going in someone else's stead; a favor to pay back some impoliteness. That wasn't anything to get all anxious about, was it?

She spotted his lanky form coming toward her and forced herself to take a deep breath.

"Hey!" She greeted him with a smile.

"Hi. Sorry, have you been here long?"

She shook her head.

"Nah, just got here a bit early. You wanna grab a coffee first or just head out?

He glanced into the café.

"I'm okay without. If that's okay with you?"

Clara agreed with a smile and a nod. She didn't need any caffeine right now, frazzled as her nerves already were.

John turned and took a quick step down the pavement. Clara followed with her arms crossed, the buzz of adventure making her giddy.

"So where's this book shop?"

John turned and realized he was two steps ahead of her. He slowed his pace and glanced around the campus buildings.

"Just five or six blocks from here. It's tucked away, so you really have to look for it."

Their arms brushed against each other as they walked side by side. A shiver ran up John's spine and he unconsciously shifted over to put a space in between them. Clara didn't seem to notice, eyes shining brightly, flitting around the campus as if she were on a different planet instead of her old university streets.

"So," she said suddenly. "What's it like studying physics?"

He cocked his head.

"Lots of work. But it's worth it. I hope," he added with a smirk. "Been caught up in my head for a while with it lately."

"Yeah, you always look so busy when I see you," Clara noted.

John scratched the back of his neck, an already familiar quirk that brought a smile to Clara's face.

"I got a bit of a late start," he explained. "I'm playing catch up."

Clara wanted to question deeper, but reconsidered.

"Yeah, I've been real busy lately, too," she replied. "I'm working to pay for school; it's just me and my dad at home. I want to make him proud."

John's eyes flickered down to his shoes. Clara noticed, and kept a worried eye on him, but didn't pry further. Nor did she have time to, as they arrived at the bookstore a mere minute later.

It was an awkward entrance, as John had mentioned, hidden down an alleyway off of the busy street. Students passed it by as if they couldn't see it.

"A bit like Hogwarts," Clara noted. "You can't see it unless you're looking for it."

John smirked.

"Just wait till you get inside. That's where the real magic is."

As she stepped through the automatic glass doors, Clara's jaw dropped to the wooden floor.

The store had two whole levels devoted to every genre and every form of storytelling one could imagine. On the bottom floor stood shelves and shelves of books, ranging from science fiction to romantic comedies and everything in between. There was also a café on this floor, filling the entire shop with the smell of roasting coffee beans and vanilla.

Her neck craned up and she found a section on the upper floor dedicated to music; another filled with prints and paintings.

John had his hands in his pockets, looking around the space with a sense of ease Clara had only seen in him onstage.

"This place is amazing. How have I never been here?"

John shrugged.

"Not many people know it's here. The owners like to keep it a bit of a mystery so it doesn't get too busy. People ruin things sometimes."

Clara raised her eyebrows.

"Are you always this cheerful and optimistic?" She nudged his shoulder.

John smirked, but didn't have a response.

"Let's look around," he said. "You're not getting any younger."

She pushed his shoulder again, playfully, as they went into the aisles. Neither of them really seemed to notice the books.

"What about you, old man? How old are you?"

"25. How about you? 48? Or is it 49?"

Clara shook her head with a smile.

"Haha. 19, actually. Turning 20 soon."

"Oh, when's your birthday?" He asked, genuinely interested.

"November 23rd."

His mouth opened, eyes widening.

"No way."

"Why?" She asked, thumbing through a copy of Pride and Prejudice.

He put a hand on his chest.

"That's my birthday," he said

Clara laughed, setting the book back.

"No way. Are you being serious?"

John nodded silently. They merely looked at each other for a moment before bursting into a laugh again.

When she'd calmed down, Clara pulled out a decorated, hardcover version of Les Miserables.

"This is one of my favorites."

John scoffed.

"There's something we don't have in common. I'd never have the attention span for that."

Clara gasped, only slightly sarcastic.

"Victor Hugo is one of my favorites."

John tilted his head.

"Bit too wordy." His eyes flickered up to the first floor. "I'm really more into art and music, if I'm honest."

Clara smirked.

"Course you are, rockstar."

John's cheeks blushed a light shade of pink, and he slowly turned away. Clara followed him with her eyes.

"You always seem really happy when you're onstage," she said pensively.

His cheeks darkened.

"Just a bit of fun," he shrugged.

"I think you're really good."

John's head darted back to her.

"Yeah?"

Clara nodded with a smile.

"Yeah. Hey, why don't you show me the first floor? I know you're itching to go up there."

He led the way to the escalator, spinning around to face her as it climbed upward.

"They have music from all the best bands. Everything from The Beatles, to Elvis, to Beethoven. And a bunch of prints of art, too. I think they might even have a…"

"John, watch out!" Clara interjected.

John spun around just in time to hop over the platform as the escalator step disappeared into it.

"A da Vinci," he finished as Clara stood beside him.

This floor was even more spectacular than the other. Art lined the walls, and some shelves, while half of the room was dedicated just to music. Books filled with music and lyrics lined the wall to the right. In front of that stood tables with multiple sets of headphones.

John practically danced around the space, motioning widely with his hands.

"They have recordings of a bunch of different artists. Most of the orchestras are pretty good; but I personally prefer the originals they have."

Clara grinned ear to ear as she watched John bounce around the music department, listening to this and reading that. When he was finished, he held a Beethoven record and book of music.

"I wish I had a time machine," John said, surveying his loot with a smile. "So I could go back in time and meet them all."

He looked around the space at the pictures of old rock stars and portraits of classical artists. Clara watched him with a smile of her own.

. . .

They exited the shop, each carrying a bag full of books and baked goods from the café. But as they fell back behind the crowds of students and others on the main road, they grew quiet and pensive.

"I used to travel a lot," John said suddenly. He glanced toward Clara and then slowed his pace even further. "All over the place."

"Alone?"

His eyes darted to the ground.

"Er, no actually. With my...my girlfriend. River. River was her name."

Clara noted the 'was' and kept silent, waiting for him to continue.

"That's why I started working my degree so late. I wasn't any good at school and I had…"

He paused, choosing his words carefully.

"My family wasn't really in the picture anymore. So I left. I didn't get back to my studies until I was 23."

Clara had many questions, but she withheld them. She didn't want to pry too quickly again.

"I've always wanted to travel," she declared instead. "My mum gave me this book-101 Places to See."

"How many have you seen so far?" John asked, seemingly happy for the change of subject.

Clara's lips quirked downward.

"Er, well, none of them. Yet."

John smiled at the determination in that word: 'yet'.

"That's alright," he commented. "There's a lot to be said for being in one place for a while. I mean, I still get antsy sometimes. But...it can be nice to settle down."

They looked around and suddenly found themselves back on campus. Clara was almost disappointed. She thought John was, too, but that could've been her reading into those eyebrows too much.

"Did you enjoy the bookstore?" John asked timidly, gesturing to Clara's bag full of new books.

"I think it might be my favorite place in the world now."

He smiled widely.

"Good. Er, I better get back. Lots to do."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I have to get to the library. Stock some shelves."

"I'll see you later, then," John said, slowly stepping away.

"Yep. Definitely."

They waved one last time and then forced themselves to part from one another.

They both were smiling ear to ear for the rest of the day.

. . .

"Martha, we had such a good time!" Clara said as she bit into her campus dining hall sandwich.

Martha smiled in reply, but it didn't reach her eyes. Clara waited as Martha took a sip of her drink, and then asked, "What?"

Martha shook her head.

"It's nothing. I'm happy for you. It's just," she looked more seriously into Clara's eyes. "John can be a bit tricky. I don't know him super well, but...he always has something on his mind. A bunch of secrets. I just don't want you getting hurt."

Clara thought over her words as she took another bite of her sandwich. The dining hall was emptying, the supper rush nearly over. The buzz of students and professors was dying down, making the lengthy silence between her and Martha feel longer.

"Thank you," she said finally. "For looking out for me. But I promise I'll be fine."

She sat back and chuckled softly.

"I don't think there's much danger in a boy who spends ninety percent of his time in the library staring at a physics textbook."

Martha smiled along, but held that serious look in her eye.

"If he ever gets to be too much, though, tell me. Okay?"

Clara finished another bite of her sandwich.

"Do you know something about John you're not telling me?" Clara asked.

Martha paused.

"It's not John, really. He's a sweet guy; he's just been through a lot. It's...it's some of the people he hangs out with. Well...one person he hangs out with."

"Who?" Clara asked.

Martha shook her head.

"I think he'd better tell you the rest. I already said too much. Just...be careful."

Clara smiled to hide her questions and nerves.

"Thank you, Martha, again; really. For looking out for me."

"Of course," Martha said. "Now let's get back to our lunch, yeah? I'm famished."

The girls laughed out the rest of their anxieties and continued their food.

But Martha's words hung in the back of Clara's head for the rest of the day.

Why did John have so many secrets? And were any of them really that dangerous?

Was she in over her head?


	5. Renaissance and Revelations

Chapter 5

Renaissance and Revelations

Another slow week of classes passed, the drudgery lessened slightly by well wishes and smiles shared between Clara and John each day. Every subsequent time she saw him, however, she noted an increasing weariness in his eyes, his gait; his entire demeanor. Sometimes when they managed to catch each other's glances at the same time, she even saw a sadness hidden in those blue irises.

By Friday morning, John looked absolutely knackered. As they passed each other while walking in opposite directions through campus, their fingers brushed against each other. It sent shivers up both of their spines, and they jumped from the contact immediately, but Clara soon composed herself enough to speak to him.

"You alright?" She asked, making him stop. His eyes had definite bags under them, and hardly stayed open beneath heavy lids.

"Fine," he replied with a stubborn smile. It curled his lips, but it didn't brighten his ashen and weary complexion at all. In fact, it seemed to make him look even sadder; even more tired.

"I'll see you tonight, then?"

Clara injected an air of cheeriness into her question, as if to make up for her companion's lack of energy.

John only nodded in response, casting his eyes downward.

"Hope so," he said, voice quiet.

Clara left it at that. She knew that he would open up when he needed to.

Well, she hoped he would, at least.

. . . . .

The café was as loud and crowded as ever that evening, with more students performing than usual. Clara didn't mind; she'd grown accustomed to and, if she admitted it, even fond of the chaos. It contrasted so greatly with its usual calm and coffee-bean smelling atmosphere, she didn't mind the alcohol and rock music so much.

Martha was busy with some revising, so Clara was by herself tonight. It was hard to feel truly alone with all of the students hanging around chatting and joking with each other.

But Clara had eyes for only one of them. She just hadn't spotted him yet.

John's band hadn't played so far tonight. There was still hope, and still a long list of performers to play, but the night was growing late. She had already downed two cups of coffee and was considering a third.

Just then, the usual announcer went to the microphone, congratulating the last singer.

"And now we welcome one of our student favorites: The Lords of Time!"

Clara straightened herself to peek over the crowd. She saw the boy in the leather jacket, then the trainers of the man in the pinstripes. She even saw the bowtie.

But John never joined them.

They played an entire song, a blonde girl in his stead playing the lead guitar. Clara checked her phone, but there was no message from him. She opened her messaging app with a worried and disappointed frown.

'Where are you?' She texted.

For a few minutes, she simply waited, finishing her coffee. Then a few minutes became ten. After fifteen, and still without a response, she put her phone in her pocket and tried to forget about it.

He was probably busy. Maybe a physics project. Or a professor needed him to work late in the lab.

Clara knew none of these options were keeping John away tonight, but her anxious brain's alternatives were too offputting to consider.

When the Lords of Time finished their set, sans John for the evening, it seemed, Clara bought one last granola bar and left.

As soon as the night air hit her face, she whipped out her phone.

John still hadn't replied.

. . . . .

Clara ignored the phone and the boy and the fears running through her stupid brain for the rest of the night. Of course the odd urge to call him or send out a search party were tempting, but she knew deep down she was being ridiculous. Dramatic, even.

What was it her dad used to call her? A control freak. That's what this was; she wasn't used to being out of control. And John seemed like someone who couldn't be controlled.

That's all that was happening here.

The next day, Clara opened the door to the café to find it as quiet as it always was on an early Saturday morning.

With a lifted heart, she saw that they did have at least one patron.

John had on a pair of sunglasses, even inside. And, if Clara heard his low voice correctly, he ordered three shots of espresso in his coffee. Something was definitely up, then.

Clara approached him, noticing his drooping head as he leaned heavily on the counter.

"Hey, stranger. Where were you last night?"

At the sound of her voice, he raised his head up so quickly his neck might've gotten some whiplash. Becoming suddenly aware of himself, he pushed the glasses up to tangle among his chaotic hair. Dark circles surrounded his eyes.

"Something came up," he mumbled. "One of my flatmates."

Clara watched him for a moment. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands, as if he could just force them into alertness. When he walked over to grab his coffee, his legs hardly seemed able to hold him.

"John, are you okay?" Clara asked timidly.

He nodded, placing a paper sleeve on his coffee.

"Fine. Just tired."

Clara dropped the subject, not wanting to push him too hard with how exhausted he looked.

"So when will I be seeing you again?" She tried.

It got a smile out of him, at least. A smirk and a sideways glance took away some of his misery.

"Whenever and wherever."

"How about tomorrow?" She suggested. "This is sort of last minute, but there's this, er, Renaissance faire. Not too far away. I'm going by bus."

John's smile brightened.

"That sounds perfect."

"Great!" Clara started toward the counter. She added, "It's a date."

John's face blushed, but that smile only widened yet further.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Clara. Er, we can meet at my flat. If you want, I mean. I can drive us."

She considered his proposal for a moment before consenting with a nod.

"That'd be better than taking the bus," she said.

John turned half away, and then spun back.

"I'll, er, text you my address. It's just a few blocks from here."

Clara nodded again, biting her lip to keep from chuckling at his bumbling, shuffling feet.

"I hope you know how to drive," she said with raised eyebrows.

He laughed.

"I do; I promise. Had to try three times, but I got my license in the end."

Clara's eyes widened almost comically. John held his hands in a defensive stance.

"Joking; joking. Only took two."

He went off, throwing her one last little smirk as she shook her head at him.

But even Kevin the barista could see that Clara was absolutely over the moon to be going to a silly little Renaissance faire with a silly, lanky Physics student.

. . . . .

When Clara arrived at John's flat, triple checking that she had the correct address, she was wearing her favorite red dress. It had been a Halloween costume at one point, and in her mind it made her look like a medieval princess. Especially when combined with the headpiece sitting in her meticulously braided hair.

She found herself getting nervous again as she stood in front of his door. Would he think she was a weirdo for being in fancy dress?

And so what if he did?

She raised her still shaking fist, but didn't connect it with the door just yet.

What if he found her attractive? Was that what she wanted?

She shook the questions out of her head. She couldn't just stand here all morning going over the ins and outs of their relationship, whatever it might be. For all she knew, they would have a terrible time and never even need to see each other again after today, ridding her of all of these silly little anxieties at once.

She hoped that wouldn't be the case, liberating as it might be.

Finally she found it in herself to knock on the door, hearing shuffling on the other side almost instantly. She looked up at the cracks in the ceiling and the lopsided '12' hanging on the door before it opened and she was met with John's face.

His eyes shined upon her, and the tether between his voice and his brain seemed to malfunction for a moment.

"You look, er, well, amazing. Hi," he stammered.

She smiled, looking over herself.

"Not too much?"

He shook his head and frowned at his own outfit; a black jacket with a T-shirt underneath and those Doc Martens he always wore.

"No, it's perfect. I wish I had dressed up a bit now."

Clara shrugged.

"You can always get something while we're there. Maybe I'll even get you in a kilt."

John shook his head.

"You know, everyone in Scotland doesn't just go around in kilts all day. It's more of a tourist attraction."

Clara smirked. "Yeah, I'll get you in a kilt someday. Now, er, shall I come in?"

He stepped abruptly out of the way, holding the door open.

"Right, sorry."

She looked around the space. It was much cleaner than she expected, for a busy young man and his flatmates. The furniture was old and worn, but there were wonderful little knick knacks everywhere. A globe sat beside a chalkboard, which had an entire shopping list scribbled onto it.

He encouraged her to sit down as he dashed into the kitchenette.

"I made some tea," he explained. "Is English Breakfast okay?"

"Yes; my favorite."

John smiled and set her cup down.

"I'll go grab the milk and sugar."

He wiped sweaty palms on his trousers. Clara again struggled not to enjoy his anxiety just a little bit, and focused on the rest of the room instead.

The table beside her held a photo frame, where a woman with the biggest, curliest hair she'd ever seen was stood somewhere in the American midwest. John was in the picture, too, younger and leaned on a classic blue car. His eyes were so much lighter in that photograph; he hadn't taken on learning the laws of the universe, she figured. His smile seemed brighter, too.

Clara turned halfway toward him as he came back into the living room. When he followed her eyes to the picture, the hand carrying the plate of sugar cubes shook so violently he had to set it down with a small thud.

"Who's this?" Clara asked.

"That's, er, River."

"Ah, I thought so."

John sat down, rubbing his hands together. He took a sip of plain black tea and then grimaced before adding in a series of sugar cubes and milk.

"What's she up to these days?" Clara asked, forgetting herself. She instantly regretted asking the question, as John's eyes darkened and his shaking hands almost dropped the mug he held.

"She…" he started. "She died, actually."

He tried to keep his voice steady, but it shook almost as much as his hand. Clara frowned, cheeks blushing red.

"I'm sorry," she said earnestly.

He set down his tea and waved it off with a shake of the head.

"It's alright. It's, er, been a while. Five years. And you couldn't have known. People say I can be pretty, er, private."

He took a sip of his tea and let out a slow breath. Clara copied the action, letting John be the next to break the silence.

"It was on one of our travels. A drunk driver came up on the sidewalk while my back was turned. She, er...I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her." He looked down and, in a low voice, added, "And maybe she would be here if it wasn't for me."

Clara leaned forward, touching his knee with her own.

"John?" She asked quietly. She didn't have words, nor the voice to say them if she did.

A moment later, he shook his head again and forced a smile.

"But we had a good two years together, so I'm happy. Twenty four months." His smile reached his eyes as he looked Clara up and down. "Time I moved on, I think."

Clara slowly uncurled her fingers, which had been locked on her lap.

"I know it took me a while after mum died to get back to what felt normal," she said. "I always take five minutes a day to think about her."

John considered the idea.

"Five minutes a day. That sounds nice."

She smiled.

"But you can take as long as you need," she explained.

He met her eyes, and his hands shifted off of his mug.

"I think I'm pretty happy now, actually," he said. "It's easier, I think, since I...well, since I met you."

His cheeks turned red and he glanced to the floor. But Clara took this opportunity to reach out and take his hand. Both of them seemed surprised at her action, as they looked to their intertwined fingers. Awkward as they may have felt, neither let go.

"Same with me," Clara said with a shaky laugh.

John smiled, and suddenly he looked almost exactly like the version of him in the picture frame; six years younger and much more filled with life.

They stared at their hands for another moment before John untangled his fingers and finished off his tea.

"So, er, we should probably get going."

"Right," Clara said, finishing the last of her own tea and getting to her feet. "I want you driving the speed limit and using turn signals, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a salute.

She playfully hit his arm down and laughed as they made their way out to the car.

. . . .

His driving turned out to be better than she'd expected, but not by much. Her life flashed before her eyes a few times, and there was a missed stop sign which he claimed was hiding behind a nonexistent bush, but they arrived at the Renaissance faire in one piece. Clara counted it as an unqualified success.

The faire was everything they had hoped. Half of the patrons were dressed in period garb, some even using old timey dialects to get into character. Clara earned more than enough compliments on her costume. Just one was unwarranted enough to inspire John to deck a man dressed as a jester, but Clara pulled him away before he could do more than send a flurry of heavily accented swears.

They got their frustrations out, instead, via an archery tent that seemed intent on making them fail.

"This sounded so much easier when I read Robin Hood," Clara explained, accidentally aiming toward John as she fitted another arrow. The master archer snatched the bow away in an instant.

"Don't go shooting your boyfriend, now, miss," the archer said, with an anxious attempt at a laugh.

Clara and John looked at each other with red faces, but neither of them corrected the archer. Instead, they smiled.

"Oh, this one probably has nine lives," Clara said. "The way he drives."

John smirked, but didn't respond. He loosened another arrow and it hit the ground just five feet away.

"This is just embarrassing."

"C'mon," Clara said, her bow back in the pile and her arm reaching through John's. "Let's go somewhere more our speed."

Ten minutes later, John found himself wrapped up in a woolen scarf. It went around his neck half a dozen times. Clara was amused, at least.

"It says 'Made in Scotland'! You've got to get it. You can send it home or something."

At the word 'home', John flinched, but Clara chose to ignore it.

"I'm from Glasgow. I didn't exactly live on a sheep farm. Honestly, what do you think Scotland is actually like?"

Clara shrugged.

"I've never been."

His smile flickered again. "Something to add to the '101 Places to See'."

Clara began an explanation on how adding to her list would change the number of places to see, but John couldn't focus. His phone had started buzzing, calling his attention with a sinking frown.

"Sorry," he said, interjecting Clara's speech with an apologetic eye. "I really have to take this."

She watched him with one eye as she continued shopping. Whoever was calling, it didn't look good. His smile was vanished, and even the brightness in his eyes was dimming.

When he came back to her side, the scarf was gone and his phone was stashed back in his pocket.

"I, er…I really have to go. I'm sorry. I know we planned to have more time, but…"

"It's fine." She added a warm smile to assure him. "What's wrong? Did something come up?"

He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Something always comes up." He sighed. "Sorry, again. I'll drive you home."

. . . . .

He drove faster on the way home, but Clara let it pass. He was uncommonly quiet, eyes intent on the road ahead. She was tempted the entire way to ask what had happened, but she held herself back. He had told her about River, and they'd had fun at the Renaissance faire. She didn't want to push it.

Once they'd arrived at her flat, Clara climbed unceremoniously out of the old, beat up car.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" She asked. He tapped the steering wheel anxiously.

"Yeah," he forced another smile. "Be safe. I'll make sure you get inside before I leave."

She smiled in thanks and went to her door. When it was open, she turned and waved. He held up a hand and then sped off, even faster than when he'd been driving them from the Renaissance faire.

Clara grit her teeth and prayed for some relief for that anxious boy.


	6. The Truth Comes Out

Chapter 6

The Truth Comes Out

For the next few days, Clara's communications with John were limited to text messages, sent from quick glances as she wandered from class to class and through sleepy eyes as she rested on her pillow at night. The decreasing temperatures and the autumn air seemed to inspire both of their professors, and so courseloads were weighing heavily as the calendars flipped to November. It kept them both busy, and they certainly were learning a lot of new information. But it also locked them in their respective buildings, which sat on opposite ends of campus.

And made it impossible to see each other face to face.

Their texts were, of course, better than not speaking at all. If Clara were honest, John was even a little better at communicating via text than he was with the spoken word. But green and white bubbles of digital lines and spaces proved a bit lackluster after the closeness they'd felt on that Sunday in his flat and at the Renaissance Faire.

She thought back to it, as she pushed her library cart down yet another aisle filled with dishevelled books. It had been such a rollercoaster of a day, what with learning about River and then having a blast at the Faire. Filling her mind with John's sweet and kind words and actions, a gentleman through and through with a sense of humor that matched her own, took her away for a little while.

That is, until she found a beautiful Dickens lying face down besides an Orwell classic.

'Honestly', Clara, thought bitterly to herself, kneeling down to scoop up the lost and damaged books.

As stressful as school was, her fellow students didn't have to throw books around wherever they pleased. She was happy to assist them in the library, as that was virtually her job description, but she wasn't about to be their maid as well.

She returned the books to the proper places and continued along, suddenly finding herself at a hidden desk. It was almost exactly like the one at which she first found John. She smiled at the memory, another one for the scrapbook. His dishevelled hair, his physics mutterings, and that anxious demeanor she had mistaken for harshness. He had been quite the characters from the start.

She looked around the high back of the desk and her smile widened brightly. There he was, again, exactly like that first day.

Looking over the state of him, her curled lips lowered and set harshly into a frown. Yes, he was just like how she'd first met him. Pushed to the brink of exhaustion and stress, it would seem. His clothes looked like they needed a few days under an iron, and by the looks of it, he was downing his second large coffee. As he worked from three separate textbooks, he ran his hands constantly through unkempt hair, sending it flying in every direction.

Worst of all was the look on his face. His eyes flitted constantly from the schoolbooks to the screen of his phone. His teeth chewed into his chapped bottom lip, head shaking every so often without a sound.

When he noticed someone standing over him, he turned his wide, shining eyes up to Clara. She read one word in those doe eyes: help.

"John? You okay?" She asked, knowing the answer.

He looked down at himself, and the dog-eared books lying open in front of him. His phone buzzed and he looked at that, too.

Finally, in a small and croaky voice, he admitted, "No."

Clara felt a weight drop in her stomach. She hadn't expected him to answer honestly, and so spent a moment trying to work out what to do. Slowly, her feet shuffled toward him, as if approaching a scared little rabbit.

"Okay," she said in a calm voice. "How bout we go somewhere private, yeah? No one's scheduled in Meeting Room A for another hour."

He mulled it over for a moment, and then nodded, stashing his phone in his pocket. Clara convinced him to leave the books and the coffee and, instead, helped him to his feet and away from the mess of scattered papers and pens. When she went to hold his hand, she found it shaking.

Feigning confidence, she led him down the aisle, through a corridor, and then into one of the meeting rooms. Inside, her heart was racing. She was afraid for him, and the state he seemed to be in, and for herself. She'd never stepped out of line since acquiring the library assistant job, and there was a very good reason for that.

She pushed those fears aside, shaking them out of her head. They didn't matter right now.

John did.

She locked the Meeting Room door, closed the blinds, and sat at a seat next to him. She placed herself strategically; close enough to be in arms reach, but far enough away not to be touching just yet.

"John," she said to get his attention, which had strayed back to his phone. "What's up?"

He stuffed his phone into his pocket and sighed heavily, leaning his head on his hand.

"Everything," he said bluntly.

Clara rested her arms on the table, trying to look nonchalant. In some of her education classes, she'd dealt with kids who were freaking out or worried about something. But those lessons really couldn't have prepared her for helping someone she knew and cared about deeply.

Still, she had to try.

"Can we be more specific? What exactly is troubling you?"

He took a deep breath, folding his arms across his chest. Closing her off.

"It's alright," she assured, making sure he met her eyes. "You can tell me."

"I have a roommate. Missy, her name is. She's always...she's always getting into trouble." John sighed again, rubbing his face with both of his hands. "Big trouble, I mean, not just ticking off the bursar. I promised to look after her; help her. But she keeps getting more and more reckless and I can't deal with it anymore!"

He paused for a moment to collect himself. His breathing was speeding up rapidly, breaths coming in and out so strongly Clara could see his chest rise and fall with each inhale and exhale.

He continued with increasing anxiety, "Schoolwork is piling up and I'm falling behind - as if I weren't already five years behind - and my professors are getting on my case and everyone is getting on my case…"

"Hey, hey," Clara said soothingly, putting a firm but gentle hand on his arm as his eyes hid behind both hands again. "Slow down. The world's not going to end; just take a deep breath."

He followed her instruction, and then lowered his hands back to the tabletop. His head drooped soon after, as if a string had been cut by his invisible puppetmaster, and he stayed staring emptily at his lap for a moment.

Clara rubbed soothing circles on his back to try and bring him back to her again.

"It's alright."

"It doesn't feel alright," he said, in that croaky voice from earlier. "It feels like a bloody mess."

He raised his head again.

"It's too much. And there's no one there to help. It's just me and Nardole - he's our other roommate. But he wants to get on with his life too. And I don't mind helping her; I love helping people, it's what I do. But it's all too much all at once."

The tears had started, shining brightly at the corners of his eyes, as much as he tried to hide them and wipe them away. Clara worked hard to keep her own calm composure, to be an anchor for him.

She could only hope that she wasn't making him drown faster.

"John, listen, I'm here now. Is there anything I can do to help?"

He sighed, shaking his head. Then, after a moment's consideration, he nodded.

"Can you...can you just stay with me for a little while?"

She, again, was surprised by his answer and how raw and honest it was. When she had recovered, she instantly accepted and brought a warm hand to rest around his shoulders.

"Of course. As long as you need me."

He put his own hand on hers, taking hold of her fingers, and let out a long breath. Suddenly his curly head leaned onto Clara's shoulder. She was shocked again for a second, but sank into the intimacy with closed eyes and smiling lips. She'd hardly gotten the man to touch her hand, let alone lean on her for support, but she wasn't going to argue with his sudden change of heart.

They stayed in that same position for another minute before he pulled away and straightened himself up.

"Missy...Missy needs someone," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "But I can't deal with it on my own."

"You shouldn't have to," Clara stated.

"But I feel like I do."

Clara took his hand.

"Don't carry the world upon your shoulders."

His lips curled. It made his whole face light up for just a moment, the harsh lines of exhaustion around his eyes easing up.

"Hey Jude."

"One of your favorites, right?" She asked, squeezing his hand.

He nodded, and then met her eyes again.

"Thank you," he said, holding her stare.

"For what?"

"Everything."

She moved her chair just a little closer to him.

"Can we be more specific?" She asked playfully.

"Well, being here for starters." John looked around the room for the first time. "Putting up with me. Listening. Holding my hand."

They both looked at their perfectly intertwined fingers again.

John's eyes flitted up to Clara's face.

"Thank you, Clara. You're a lifesaver."

She shook her head.

"I'm not even a schoolteacher yet."

He smirked. "I bet you're gonna save the universe someday."

She smiled abashedly.

Their moment ended with a knock on the door.

"I have to get back to work," Clara said with wide but apologetic eyes. Their hands unlocked as she got up and rushed to the door.

"Clara," John repeated, "Really, thank you."

They shared one last smile before Clara pulled the door open.

It was Ms. Guzzle, with her librarian spectacles eyeing Clara disapprovingly.

Clara's smile dropped.

"I can explain, I just…"

Ms. Guzzle held up a hand.

"Ms. Oswin…"

"Oswald," Clara said firmly.

The head librarian's eyes widened.

"Oswald. You are dismissed from your duties."

Clara and John both jerked in shock.

"This has to be a mistake," John said.

Ms. Guzzle turned a cross eye on him.

"It is no mistake."

"Why?" Clara demanded.

"Taking a boy into a private meeting room and locking the door? Do I really have to explain any further?"

Clara looked at the floor, but John surged forward.

"She was helping me through a bit of a crisis. Not that anyone like you would understand."

Ms. Guzzle glanced around at the students and professors stealing peeks at their argument.

"Please exit the library and take your studies elsewhere," Ms. Guzzle finished.

Clara helped John collect his books, thankfully still sitting on the desk, and they walked out together. Once outside and safe from the eye of Ms. Guzzle, John launched into a series of apologies.

"Clara, I am so sorry." He nearly dropped the books he was holding with the sweat beading on his palms. "I'll help you find a new job. I'll send out applications."

Clara shook her head, covering her mouth. John thoguht, at first, that she was crying and almost started crying with her. But then he realized she was smiling.

His eyebrows furrowed, making him look like a baffled owl.

"You're...you're laughing. You just lost your job!"

Clara's smile was brighter than ever.

"You told off Ms. Guzzle!" She said with her mouth wide open.

"Well," he shifted awkwardly on his feet. "Yes, and got us banned from the university library. You still have a year left in your degree! What if you get in trouble for this?"

She closed her eyes.

"John, I have never been happier. Come here."

She set his books on the ground and pulled him into a hug. His body stiffened at the sudden contact, but he soon eased into it, setting his own pile of books and papers on the ground.

Clara nestled her face into the crook of his neck, her heart fluttering as she held his jacket in her hands. His fingers pressed into her back, just firm enough to send a flurry of calm through her frazzled nerves.

"Are you alright, John?" She asked.

He sighed.

"Other than the fact that I just cost you your job."

She squeezed his shoulder, keeping him in the hug.

"I told you not to worry about that. Just tell me you're alright and that you're not lying."

"Okay. Other than that," he pulled away to look at her, a smile curling his lips. "I'm alright. And I swear I'm not lying."

She looked into his eyes to make sure, and then pulled him back toward herself.

"Good. In that case," she kissed his cheek and separated from him, patting his shoulder. "You need to go study. And sort out your friend."

"Yes."

"But breathe deeply. And if you need me, just call."

He swallowed, as if to keep himself from another crying spell, and blinked hard.

"Clara...thank you."

"You've said that a dozen times already," she laughed.

"It still isn't enough."

She picked up his books and held them out for him.

"Go study. And we'll see each other soon. You can thank me again later, I promise. But not too much. My head's big enough as it is."

He chuckled, letting out his pent up nerves, and took the books from her before heading off across campus. Clara stayed in front of the library for a moment, letting her brain and heart catch up to all that had transpired in the past half hour. Then, with a smile, she started toward her favorite cafe.

. . . .

While Clara was lying in bed that night, scrolling through her notifications, a message suddenly popped up. When she read that it was from John, she sat up against her pillow and turned her bedside lamp on.

It read: 'Thank you, again, for everything today.'

She smiled to herself. 'I told u, u don't need to thank me.'

Three dots blinked back, notifying that he was texting. The pregnant pause went on for over a minute. By the time it came through, Clara's eyes were almost burning from staring at the white light of the screen.

'Do u want to hang out again sometime soon?'

Her smile widened.

'I would love that,' she replied

The next response came faster, egged on, she supposed, by her confirmation.

'I have an amazingly horrible B movie from the 60's we can watch together and a few bags of popcorn. Maybe Saturday morning at my place?'

She agreed with a few movie-themed emojis, and then sank back into her pillow.

Her phone buzzed just once more that night, a message which simply read 'I can't wait! See you then'.

She let her phone rest over her heart for the rest of the night.


	7. Love and Disaster

Chapter Seven

Love and Disaster

The days leading up to Saturday dragged on, as time so often does when one is awaiting something wonderful and exciting. More than a few times, Clara found herself looking at her desk calendar with pursed lips and furrowed brows, wondering why the date felt a day or two behind. In class, too, she caught her eye wandering up to the clock as it ticked like molasses.

The slowest minutes of all, though, were the ones that took place during her next phone call home. With chattering teeth, Clara input her father's number and listened to the dial tone.

It rang twice. Then a third time. With a lifted spirit, she considered maybe he wouldn't answer.

Then the ringing ended with a distinctive click. Shuffling on the other line came through, just before her dad's voice.

"Clara?"

He sounded so happy, probably because she'd forgotten to call last week. Suddenly Clara felt all of the nerves return, even more powerful than while she'd been waiting for him to answer.

"Hey, dad. I, er…"

"How's school going?"

"Great," she replied, honestly. "I think my professors are pretty happy with me so far."

She paced back and forth in her tiny flat, clenching her empty, sweaty palm into a fist as her dad rattled on about how great she was and how proud she made him.

"Dad," she finally cut in, closing her eyes. "I, er...I lost my job at the library."

There was a pause, in which Clara's brain sped onto eight different tracks, all of which ended in doom and shame. Her eyes darted around restlessly, not looking at anything in particular.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. That's always rough," her dad said, breaking the silence.

Clara let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"You're not angry?" She asked.

"Why would I be angry? You're already working so hard; it's a relief you've got a bit of a break for once."

Clara smiled, tears of pent up nervous energy fogging her vision.

"I thought you'd be disappointed or something."

Her dad clicked his teeth.

"I lost my first job when I was sixteen. It happens. Just keep out of prison and stay away from drugs. And boys. That's all I ask."

She tilted her head.

"That's doable."

"That's my girl. And hey, you can always look for another job if you want to. But no pressure."

Clara's smile widened.

"Thank you, dad."

"Love you, Clara."

They wrapped up their conversation with a few rounds of goodbyes, and then Clara exited the call. She breathed out a deep sigh, and then fell back onto her bed, letting her phone drip onto the top blanket.

The ceiling was cracked above her, and there was an essay to write, not to mention the Shakespearean texts she had to finish in the next few days. But her biggest hurdle of the week had been crossed, with much more ease than she could've imagined.

Maybe things were really going to go her way this year.

. . . . . . .

Saturday morning, Clara entered John's building in her comfiest clothes; a pair of joggers, trainers, and a hoodie atop a black tank top. He had insisted she not bring anything, and she didn't argue. After the longest week of her life, she was ready to kick back and be a little pampered.

John opened the door in apparel similar to her own. For once, he was dressed more casually: a hooded jacket instead of the usual lapel-and-collar, and gray socks instead of those stiff boots. They shared a smile and he invited her inside.

"Make yourself comfortable."

The flat was even neater than the last time she'd seen it. Two pillows sat beside a blanket on the sofa, facing toward a large laptop. The main menu for a black-and-white sci-fi film lit up the laptop screen, making odd monster noises every so often. Clara worked her shoes off of her feet and sat down with a chuckle.

"Where on earth did you find this film?" she asked over her shoulder. He was in the kitchen cooking, what smelled and sounded like, popcorn.

"Er, remember that bookshop? I found a little old-film section. This one had the worst reviews."

Clara shook her head.

"That is brilliant."

John threw her a smirk as he finished up on the stove.

"Do you want popcorn?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

He poured the popcorn into two separate bowls.

"Butter and salt?"

"Just a little."

When their 'meal' was fully prepared, John hurried into the room balancing the two bowls of popcorn, a bottle of soda, and two plastic cups.

"Sorry, didn't know if you drank."

Clara took her popcorn and poured her soda happily.

"Soda is perfect."

John sat beside her, a bit more uneasy than she was. His hands kept fidgeting and his leg couldn't decide if it wanted to be up or down. It ultimately decided on down as he leaned back into the sofa.

"Ready?"

Clara ate a few kernels of popcorn.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

John clicked the film on, and it instantly let out a horrible screeching noise. He and Clara shared grimaces, which ended in amused smiles.

"Did people have working ears in the sixties or were they all deaf from the rock music?"

John smiled, taking some of his own popcorn.

"Probably the latter. Though, I must ask, not all rock music hurts your ears, does it, Clara?"

She glanced his guitar sitting in the corner. They shared a loud laugh.

"No," she assured. "Just don't crank up the sound too much. Or do any of that screamo stuff."

"Yes ma'am."

She shook her head at his response, but turned back to the movie with a wide smile.

"Oh my God, what is that thing?"

John coughed on one of his kernels as some kind of a giant 'spider-sloth' came ambling onto the screen. When he recovered enough to laugh without choking himself, he cleared his throat.

"I honestly don't know what to call that."

Clara and John sat critiquing and laughing at the film for another half hour before turning to each other fully again. Clara picked up one of her last remaining popcorn kernels and held it up.

"Try to catch this."

He opened his mouth wide, but her toss sent the kernel bouncing off of his tooth. He tried next, hitting her on the ear.

"You know," she said, picking up the kernel from the sofa. "For a physics student, your trajectory is a bit frightening."

"I was never really a PE person. More of an arts and sciences kid, me."

"Are you suggesting that catching popcorn in your mouth is a sport?" Clara asked, setting her empty bowl on the table beside her.

John was about to respond, but they both simply laughed and looked back to the screen. The spider-sloth was chasing a woman in heels very, very slowly. Around the styrofoam monster stood collapsing 'buildings', which looked more like a kid's drawing than a professional film set.

Clara turned to John to find him already watching her. Her lips curled into a confused smile, which he returned with soft eyes that traced her features.

"What's up?" Clara asked, setting her hand on the blanket they were both sat under.

John shook his head.

"Nothing. Just…I'm really happy."

His whole face shined as the brightest smile she'd ever seen him wear spread across his lips.

"I've haven't been this happy in...years," he added.

His hand found Clara's, to the apparent surprise of both of them. They both looked down at their fingers, holding onto each other for dear life.

John let out a nervous chuckle, but looked up to Clara with intensity.

"Clara…"

She leaned toward him, both of their eyes dancing over the other's lips. Her heart was pounding, but she had never felt more relaxed. Her eyes closed as they grew closer and closer to each other.

Just when they were within a hair's breadth of each other, smelling the popcorn and butter lingering on their lips, the door burst open.

Clara and John jumped back. First they looked at each other, wide eyed. Then they looked back at the two figures clambering inside behind them, one holding the other up.

"We need help," the figure on the right said shakily. It was a boy somewhere in between Clara and John's age, with a bald head and a tightly set anxious grimace.

"Nardole…" John said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nardole helped the other figure as she tried to step forward, legs moving like jelly.

"John," Nardole said sternly. "Seriously, we need you to help us. Missy's gotten in even more trouble than usual."

Missy, who Clara remembered from Martha's conversation, leaned back against the wall. Her eerie smile sent a shiver down Clara's spine. The woman seemed older than Nardole, maybe even older than John.

Clara looked back at John to focus herself. She couldn't tell what emotion was stronger on his face: anger, embarrassment, dread, horror. Whatever was happening, nothing good was going to come of it.

"Nardole," John said, getting to his feet. "What kind of trouble are we talking about?"

Nardole left Missy on a chair beside the wall and came to the sofa. He hadn't seemed to notice Clara yet.

"The police are after her."

John's face fell.

"For what?"

Nardole sighed, shaking his head.

"Stolen chemicals, endangering students, property destruction; you name it."

John leaned fidgeting hands on the back of the sofa. As he stared at the floor, his eyes held something Clara hadn't noticed before: sadness. Just like she'd seen in him these past few weeks. A deep sadness, perhaps even grief. And maybe a touch of shame, too.

"John," Clara said, touching his arm. He jumped at the contact. "What's going on?"

He looked up at her and his mouth opened as if to say something, but then he glanced at Nardole.

"It's...it's fine, Clara. Everything is fine. There are just a lot of complicated situations here."

He looked at Missy when he said that. She still seemed lost in some kind of a dream; a state of ignorant bliss the others wished they could achieve.

John pinched the bridge of his nose again.

"I'm so sorry, Clara. It's not usually...we can usually stop this before it goes too far."

Clara was properly worried, for John and Nardole and Missy, and also for herself. Her boyfriends in the past had been normal; living normal lives, with normal vices and virtues. This was something beyond her or anything she'd ever dealt with.

"John, I have to go," she said firmly. She almost regretted saying it as soon as it left her lips, given the expression on John's face, but she held fast. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

John sucked in a deep breath as Clara made her way to the door.

"Wait, Clara. I'm sorry…"

Clara turned back and gave him a small smile to reassure both him and herself

"It's alright, John. I just need some air."

She opened the door and was hit with the smell of coffee and cigarettes.

"Nobody's going anywhere just yet."

The voice came from the angry police officer standing in the doorway, who had a look on his face that made Clara's blood go cold.


	8. In Prison with You

Chapter 8

In Prison with You

The four young adults stood staring wide eyed at the police officer, whose thick eyebrows gave him an even more intense look than John on exam day.

"Missy?" The constable asked, pulling out a pair of handcuffs.

John jumped in front of him with his hands up in surrender.

"Is that really necessary?"

The cop practically pushed past John and locked the cuffs on Missy's wrists.

She winced with an irritated scowl.

"Oi; not so tight," Missy whined.

The constable ignored her, turning to the others.

"You're all going to have to come in for some questioning. And you'll all be tried for harboring a wanted criminal."

John darted in front of Clara this time, trying and failing to maintain some composure.

"Sir, please; she's innocent. This is our business."

The constable put his hands on his waist and sauntered over. As towering as John was, the officer stood over him like an angry P.E. teacher taunting a primary school kid.

"Well my business is bringing some justice to delinquents like yourselves."

John glared up at the man and didn't move.

"She isn't involved in this," he said firmly. "Let her go and then I'll come quietly."

The constable pulled out a second pair of handcuffs.

"Come on, son. Don't make this difficult."

John's eyes widened at the sight of the handcuffs, but his anger was outweighing his common sense.

"She's already gotten in enough trouble because of me," John continued. "Please, just let her leave. She doesn't even know about any of this, just..."

He was in handcuffs before he could finish, shoved against the wall beside Missy.

"That's enough. Now, you two want to start any trouble?"

He gave a pointed look to Nardole and Clara, who were both shaking, frozen in fear. The constable smiled with a dark sneer.

"Good. Now, all of you, come with me and don't be difficult."

Missy chuckled all of a sudden, though she did obey orders. As they mad the slow and embarrassing walk to the police car, Clara heard her lean in to John and mutter, "Difficult is my middle name, isn't it?"

John didn't seem amused, keeping his eyes locked ahead and his mouth clamped shut.

Clara saw that look in his eye again; not anger, not fear or irritation.

Sadness.

That look was all she could think about, even as the constable rushed them all to the station.

. . . . . . . . .

"Clara," John muttered as he massaged his pink wrists.

He was seated on the floor of their cell, as if to punish himself further. His watery eyes looked up to Clara, who was sat on the stiff bed with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Clara, I am so sorry."

She didn't respond, mostly because she barely heard him. Her brain was going haywire, launching into a million different conversations she could have with her dad about this. Just as John was about to open his mouth again, she smiled softly and spoke for the first time since their arrest.

"You know, my dad told me to keep out of prison, stay away from drugs, and not to get involved with a boy. So if Missy really did confiscate some kind of weird chemicals, I think I basically ticked all those boxes tonight."

Her smile fell as soon as it had arrived.

John's hands came up to cover his face, but he dropped them a moment later.

"How can I possibly make this up to you?" He asked, fearing the answer.

Clara took a slow breath, staring at the opposite wall.

"Explain," she said simply. They met each other's eyes. "Missy; who is she to you? And why are you trying to protect her?"

John looked down at his shaky hands. A long silence between them, with only muffled sounds from either Missy or Nardole coming from the cell next door. Finally, John came up to the bed and sat beside her, careful to keep a respectful distance.

"As soon as I finished my A-levels, I ran away from home," he said suddenly. Clara's head whipped toward him.

"My family," he paused for a breath. "My family wasn't really...let's just say there were issues. And Missy was a distant cousin. And my best friend, when we were young. We were the black sheep of the family. So when I ran, so did she."

He smiled at the memory. Then his face darkened, that sadness entering his irises again.

"But then I met River, and we went travelling. I guess Missy needed me more than I thought. She...she went off the handle. Started getting into trouble just for the fun of it. Nobody in our family wanted to deal with it. So...so I did. I tried, anyway."

All this time, he was staring intently at the stone floor as Clara watched his ears turning pink and then red.

Finally he looked up to her again.

"So that's my story. Not a very good one I'm afraid."

They sat in another moment of silence, in which Clara ran over everything in her head and John worried over what her worst possible responses could be. After three minutes, he couldn't take it anymore.

"I understand if you don't want to speak to me anymore. I'd hate me too at this point."

Clara's head whipped toward him even faster this time. He had definite tears in his eyes, and was staring at the floor again. His hand was trembling, fingers fidgeting restlessly.

Clara bit her lip, considering her options.

Slowly, she brought her hand over his and took hold of his fingers between her own. When he looked up, she smiled softly.

"I could never hate you. Daft old man," she shook her head playfully.

Her arms flew around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. His eyes opened widely at first, shocked at the sudden contact, but something inspired him to hug her back.

He clung to her as if his life depended on it, resting his head on her shoulder. He sniffed a few times, and Clara felt some droplets of tears fall onto the back of her neck. He smiled, though, without any inhibition.

And Clara did, too.

She was now sure that, as angry as her dad would be, all of the trouble was worth this moment of bliss.


	9. The Eye of the Storm

Chapter Nine

The Eye of the Storm

Clara and John sat in comfortable silence for the next hour. They each had smiles trying to break out on their faces, even among all of the trouble and chaos that they had gone through, and the trouble and chaos sure to come when they left their little cell. But they had each other. They were sure of that now.

John turned his eyes from the ceiling and smiled at Clara's half-sleeping form leaned against the wall. The light flickering in from the main hallway bathed her features in golden light. Though she snored lightly, small nose crinkling in the heavy, cigarette smoke-filled air, she might as well have been a goddess to John.

A sudden noise of clanking metal woke her, and called John's attention to the door. He sat up abruptly as one of his old classmates walked into their cell.

"Martha?" Clara asked upon waking.

"Are you two okay?"

Martha threw her arms around Clara's neck, tossing anxious glances between her and John.

"We're fine," Clara assured, wiping the sleep out of her eyes.

Martha breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Okay," she said, turning a stern eye on both of them. "If my parents ask, I was paying off some guys who kidnapped you."

Clara's eyes widened.

"What?"

John got to his feet.

"You paid our bail?" He asked, his jaw dropping with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.

Martha nodded.

"I asked my parents to send me some money. I couldn't just let you two sit in prison all day, could I?"

Marha shuddered as a wind blew through the night sky outside the barred windows.

"Let's get out of here, eh?"

As Clara followed Martha out the door, John took her arm.

"I'm never going to be able to repay either of you."

She gave him an almost frustrated smile.

"John, you don't have to. And stop apologizing."

He shook his head.

"You deserve more than me," he murmured.

Clara went to respond, but realized that Martha and one of the constables were staring at them from outside of the cell.

She and John exited the prison beside each other, trailing behind Martha, Nardole, and Missy. The latter of these wore an ankle bracelet so that the police could keep an eye on her. She wouldn't be allowed to leave the county without them knowing it.

. . . .

When they were safely back at John's house, deposited by a very tired Martha after listening to his profuse apologies and sentiments of eternal gratitude, Clara turned to John and grabbed his hand.

The morning sun was just peeking over the horizon; golden hour, she'd learned in a photography class. The calm before the storm of the day. The break of the dark of night.

When everything, even the light in the sky, could just be perfect for a few short minutes.

"John," she said, as Nardole and Missy trod inside to sleep.

He turned to her with reluctant, sleepy eyes. She squeezed his hand.

"Do not feel guilty for this."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she shushed him quietly, closing her eyes.

"What happened was not your fault. You're just a person in a very bad situation. And that's okay," she assured. "That's not because of you. That's just life sometimes."

"Life might be kinder if I were actually a good man," he said gruffly.

Clara squeezed his hand again.

"John; you are a good man. Don't think for one second that you aren't."

Clara sighed. She wasn't getting through to him. What could she possibly say to get her point across? To make him believe her?

"You try so hard, every day," she said, her eyes locked on his face. "In everything you do. And you try to be a good person to everyone you meet."

"You don't know that," he replied under his breath.

She bit her lip.

"No, but I'm a good ninety nine percent sure I'm right. Even if you don't believe it."

His eyes were still locked on the ground beneath his feet. She held firmer onto both of his hands.

"John, look at me."

He did as he was told, staring at her nose to avoid making eye contact.

"I don't think any of my words are getting through to you," she said, half to herself. He shrugged.

"But maybe this will."

Clara took his face in between her hands and leaned up on the tips of her toes. Before John could realize what she was doing and before she could start to doubt herself, she pulled him close and set her lips on top of his.

His eyes widened in shock at first, and then closed as he melted into the kiss. His heart sped up a few beats, hands shakily taking hold of her waist.

Then, all of a sudden, he felt a wave of calm wash over him. He didn't feel so much like the late-to-the-game physics student or the disowned child or the one whom River sacrificed herself for.

In this moment, he was just a boy. A boy kissing a girl. A boy kissing the best girl in the world.

They pulled away to catch their breath. Clara's fingers played in the curls on the back of his head as his thrummed a beat on her side, just under her ribs.

Together, they laughed, and smiled, and leaned their foreheads into each other. Clara looked up at him with a smirk.

"Do you think I would ever kiss someone who I didn't think was the kindest, bravest, most deserving person possible?"

John shook his head in a stupor.

Clara leaned back, getting off of the tips of her toes.

"That's settled then," she said smugly. "No more apologizing for things you didn't do. And no more blaming yourself for everything life decides to throw at you."

John smiled, his eyelids fluttering as he gazed down at her.

"I think it will be easier," he said. "With you. Clara Oswald."

She pulled him down toward her, just a bit.

"I love the way you say my name."

"I love the way you save my life every time I'm with you," he replied.

Their lips came together again, the morning light bouncing off of their faces as they leaned in and out from each other. They never wanted the moment to end. The whole world could pass them by; they didn't care. What did it matter, if they could stay there forever together?

They knew there'd be hell to pay. There were court dates to survive, and essays to write, and people to give explanations to.

But here, standing outside of John's humble flat in the early November sunshine; with the wind licking their hands and chills running up and down their spines…

Here, none of that mattered.

All Clara saw was the boy from the library, who had so much more to offer than she had first given him credit for.

And all John saw was the woman who had brought him back to life.

 **Sadly, we're at the beginning of the end now. There will be about two more chapters in this story. But! I alreay have plans for the next series I want to work on, so don't worry!**


	10. How to Build a Snowman and Fall in Love

**Hey guys! There will be one last chapter after this one, and then I'm afraid there might be a bit of a break (a few weeks, not months, hopefully!). BUT, after that break, there'll be a new story I'm starting! I'm very thankful for all the love these past couple of months, and I can't wait to start our next adventure.**

Ten

 _How To Build a Snowman and Fall in Love_

Clara smiled at the snow beginning to fall from the white sky. The year was going by so fast and the holidays would soon be sending her home.

Her smile faltered.

She had told her father most of the details of their night in prison. She, Nardole, and John had virtually gotten off with a warning when the constables heard the whole story. Missy was fined heavily, and earned a lifetime ban from the university and half of the surrounding neighborhoods.

Overall, it was the best outcome Clara could hope for. Except that her dad now probably hated her boyfriend.

The boyfriend she was on her way to see right now.

The smile returned to her face as his lanky figure appeared in the distance. He wore gloves and a heavy woollen coat to equal her mittens and puffy jacket. When he saw her, his face lit up as well.

That made her smile even wider.

"Hey, John!" She gave a small wave as they neared each other, approaching from opposite ends of the campus square.

"Clara, you look like you're freezing."

He pulled her into a hug a rubbed her back, thwarted only by her bulky backpack. She smiled into his chest, cheeks blushing from more than just the cold.

"How is your revision going?" He asked, pulling away but leaving his hands on her shoulders.

"Alright. I have tons to memorize for a medieval literature exam next Monday."

John grimaced.

"I know how you feel. Physics is eating me alive right now," he admitted.

Clara shook her head.

"My rocket scientist."

John smiled at the idea of being hers. They gazed into each other's eyes for a moment before he hastily released her arms from his grip.

"Hey, I have an idea."

He knelt on the ground suddenly, pushing the snow around with his gloves. Clara chuckled.

"What are we doing?"

He looked up with a smirk.

"I think we need a study buddy."

Clara's face lit up.

"A snowman?" She said excitedly, kneeling down beside him.

He nodded, tamping the base down with a few strong whacks.

"This'll be the bottom layer," he explained. "Can you start making the middle?"

They worked at their respective jobs, building up the man of snow with care and precision. When Clara's portion was finished, they both stood on opposite sides of the giant torso and got their hands beneath it.

"Alright, on three," John said. "One...two...three!"

Together, they raised the snowy sphere and placed it heavily on the base he'd built up. When it was seated on top, they pulled their hands slowly away, waiting for it to come crashing down.

Somehow, though wobbly and off balanced, it stayed.

"Perfect!" Clara cheered. "Now it just needs a head."

She and John worked together on the head, adding snow and ice until it was roughly the shape of an oval. For its face, they added little rocks and pebbles to make out the eyes and mouth. The nose came in the form of a pencil.

Clara took a step back and surveyed their work.

"Okay." She clapped her hands together. "You go grab a couple branches for its arms. I'll add some finishing touches."

John went off to look for the perfect snowman arms as Clara dug into her bag. When she found what she was looking for, she grinned ear to ear.

"John! Come look; it's perfect!"

He hurried back to her side carrying two long branches with wishbone-like ends. The scarf now wrapped around the snowman's neck put a wide smile on his face.

"Where did you get that?" He asked as he stuck the arms into the torso. "It must be two meters long."

Clara zipped up her bag.

"I got it from the Renaissance Faire we went to."

John's eyes gleamed into hers.

"Our first date."

"Exactly," she replied with a small voice, focused more intently on his face than their conversation. Just when it looked like she was about to kiss the smiling goof beside her, Clara knelt down and grabbed a handful of snow.

"What are you doing with-"

Before he could finish, John was being pelted with snow from a much too excited future English teacher.

"Oi!" He called, throwing a hand up in defense.

Clara giggled, but John got to work. He scooped up a large batch of snow.

Clara's giggled stopped abruptly.

"No," she said with a finger held up, backing away swiftly. John approached with a mad look in his eye.

"No you don't John Smith!" Clara shouted, a smile betraying her.

He threw the snow and she spun around, letting most of it hit her back and shoulders. When she had recovered and he was properly laughing, Clara set her bag down on the snowy ground and rubbed her mittens together.

"Okay, I see how you're going to play."

Clara grabbed another handful of snow, pelting it at John before he could react. It hit his arm, exploding into a dusting of white that covered half of his body.

Before he could respond with a snowball of his own, Clara was already sending another wave of small snow piles, firing madly.

During the assault, John took to hiding his head below his arms. Even without the constant stream of attacks, he was laughing too hard to make a snowball of his own. Slowly, he tried to approach her, the shining white snow flying through the air making it almost impossible to see.

Clara's chuckling voice was his only guide as he waded through the storm. That, and the closeness of the snowballs. As he neared, the snow hit him almost constantly.

He was almost choking on his giddy laughter when he raised his arms and grabbed her into a hug to stop her attacks. She laughed, too, and let him take her in his arms. As her momentum suddenly changed direction, her boots slid on the snow.

Suddenly, they found themselves on the ground, Clara practically on top of John. She sat up, making sure he was alright. Once that was confirmed, she launched into another series of laughs.

He was on his back below her, smiling that big, goofy smile. A dusting of snow made his black clothing look flour-covered. She chuckled at the sight of him, and then helped him sit up.

They drank in the moment, sitting on the campus greens (now white with the snow) together, not a care in the world beyond each other. As a snowflake landed on Clara's nose, John couldn't help but smile wide, his pupils dilating.

He laughed as she crinkled her nose and wiped the snow off of her face. He couldn't help but laugh and smile when he was in her presence.

"I love you," he said casually, wiping some snow off of her shoulder.

He didn't realize what he'd said until he met Clara's wide eyes. His jaw dropped.

"I...I, er...I…"

Clara grabbed his lapels and pulled him in to a kiss, putting a stop to his stammering.

They leaned into each other, Clara with her fingers still latched onto his jacket and John holding her freezing face between his hands. The wind howled around them, students passed, exams crept closer. But Clara and John only knew of each other in that moment.

When at last they pulled away, faces shining and red, Clara smiled an anxious smile.

"I already knew, John."

She massaged his cheek with her thumb, looking into his eyes to know he believed her.

"And I love you, too," she said firmly. His eyes darted down and she held more firmly onto his lapel. "I love you, John Smith."

His shy eyes met hers again and lit up.

Finally, he believed her. Finally he accepted that his life was indeed just beginning.

And finally he could start to move on and make a new future, hopefully with this short, amazing, impossible English student by his side.


	11. Goodbye Until Tomorrow

**Thank you again for showing so much support for this story! Enjoy the final chapter!**

Goodbye Until Tomorrow

"I wish we could just fly away."

John turned to Clara, her words hardly registering as he surveyed every feature on her face. He needed to remember everything about her, so that even when they parted and she went home and he went wherever with Nardole, he'd still have her in his mind.

Clara looked down at her pale, shaky hands. The wind was biting her exposed stockings with December freeze, but she didn't care. The students passed on the paths below them, but she didn't care. The bench was gaining a layer of ice even as they sat, but she didn't care.

Her eyes turned up again, tears freezing to her face as soon as they tracked down.

"I wish we could just fly away and never answer to anyone."

John smiled lightly, considering the idea. Running away, just him and Clara. The two of them against the world.

It sounded fantastic.

"Maybe I can whip something up in the Physics lab before I go," he said with a sad smile. "A spaceship. Or even a time machine."

Clara leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I wish we could just stay here forever," she said quietly.

John's furrowed brows turned down to her.

"Is there something wrong, Clara? Do you not want to go home?"

She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

"It's fine. It's just; there's always something to do. Or explain. Or study for or apply for. Even now that we're on holiday, there's still people to deal with and things I don't want to talk about that'll definitely come up." She sighed. "I just want a break from it for a bit."

John nodded, leaning back into the bench.

"I know," he agreed. Then he took her hand in his and gave her a soft smile. "But we have today."

Her eyes brightened.

"Yes, we do."

Clara shook the thoughts out of her head and looked up at John.

"Promise you'll call me?"

"Every day."

Clara pecked him on the cheek, satisfied with his answer. John blushed, satisfied with her kiss.

"Good," she said.

They sat back, hands still interlocked, and gazed down at the students still rushing about the campus below their bench on the hill.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Clara snatched a gingerbread cookie off of the kitchen counter as her dad pulled the second batch out of the oven.

"Be careful with those!" he said with a laugh. "You'll burn your hands."

"Nah," Clara said, biting into the cookie. "Cookies would never hurt me. We're besties."

Her dad set the oven mitts on the counter and surveyed his work.

"Not bad this year, are they?"

"Not bad," she agreed.

He patted her on the back as he went out of the room. The cookies called her attention again, their siren call tempting her for another. But before she could choose one, her phone began buzzing. She knew who it would be before it was out of her pocket.

"Hey!"

"Clara, hi," replied John.

"How's your Christmas Eve going? Nardole trying to peek his presents early?"

There was a moment's pause.

"Er, well, I'm on my own here actually," John said hesitantly. "Nardole's at his parent's house and Missy's with her friends."

"You can't be alone at Christmas!" Clara cried.

"It's fine; really, I'm not super religious anyway."

Clara shook her head.

"Doesn't matter. Come to my house! It's just dad and me; we've got plenty of food.

"I'm really alright; I don't want to impose…"

"Seriously John, if you don't come visit us, we'll just have to bring Christmas to you."

John sighed, but Clara could hear the smile in his voice.

"If you're sure it's alright," he conceded.

Clara brought the phone down to her shoulder.

"Dad?"

He peeked his head out from the dining room.

"Clara?"

"Would it be okay if John came over for Christmas tomorrow? He doesn't have anyone to celebrate with and…"

"Of course!" Her dad said with a smile.

Clara thanked him silently.

"John, it's absolutely fine. You're always welcome here."

There was another long pause.

"Okay, I'll be there" John said. "Thank you a million times."

They said their long goodbyes before Clara hung up and had another cookie. She smiled to herself, excited at the idea of seeing him tomorrow. But a sadness weighed heavily in her chest as well. John didn't have anyone to be with on holidays. And it wasn't because they had passed away, like her mum. It was because they didn't want him there.

Clara had to make this the best Christmas John ever had.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Clara woke early the next morning like a kid ready to see what Santa had brought for them. Keeping her pajamas on, she hurried to the kitchen and made up some pancakes and sausages, stealing another cookie as she worked. By the time her dad came down, she had a whole meal prepared and the table set.

"Happy Christmas, Clara."

"Happy Christmas!" She replied with a grin, serving up the pancakes on two reindeer-decorated plates.

"Someone's excited," her dad commented.

Clara sat at the table a shrugged, nonchalant.

"Christmas only comes once a year."

"I'm not sure it's Christmas you're excited for."

She blushed, but then laughed.

"Dad!"

He kissed the top of her head.

"Well, I'm excited to meet him, too," he said. "With all you've told me."

Clara smiled. It had once seemed so impossible that her dad would even consider liking John. This was beyond anything Clara could've hoped for.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Clara and her dad were sitting on the sofa sipping on eggnog when the doorbell rang. Splashing the drink as she set it clumsily on the table, Clara jumped up to answer it, throwing her blanket aside.

"Coming!" She called.

When she opened the door, she first only saw a pile of presents standing in front of her. John peeked his head around with a timid smile.

"Hello," he said.

Clara lifted the top present off to reveal his face.

"Happy Christmas."

Clara's dad came up behind her, shaking his head with a smile as his eyes landed on John.

"You're a few hours late, Father Christmas," he joked.

Clara stepped aside.

"Come in! It's bloody freezing outside."

"Thank you," John said, wiping his boots outside before stepping gingerly into the room. "Should I take my shoes off?"

Clara smiled to see him trying so hard.

"Whatever you want. Make yourself at home."

And there it was again. That flicker of sadness when that word -home- reached his ears. Clara frowned to herself as he set the presents down and shook her father's hand with a plastered on grin.

"I'm Dave," her dad stated.

"John Smith."

Dave smirked.

"I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Smith."

John's cheeks turned pink, but Dave clapped him on the shoulder.

"Only good things," Dave assured.

Clara led them to the sofa and got John an eggnog. There the trio stayed for what felt like half the day, talking and laughing and eating and drinking.

When the light outside began to dim and the turkey in the oven smelled of a million wonderful things, they found themselves drifting into the dining room. Dave served the food while Clara set the table, both of them adamant that John was a guest and therefore was only allowed to sit and be waited on.

"Here we go," Dave said, carrying in the turkey. Clara and John's mouths watered just looking at it.

"This is a bit different from the ramen noodles I'm used to," John said with a smile.

Dave served him first, giving him an extra helping of pudding. When all three plates were full, the three dug in with knives and forks clanking in excitement for their meal.

They were silent for a while before Dave set his fork down and folded his hands. He had a smile on his face that Clara knew to be playful, but it sent chills down John's spine.

"Now, John. What's this I heard about you and Clara ending up in prison?"

John's heart sank. Suddenly the food weighed heavy in his stomach and he felt a wave of shame that he was even eating all this wonderful food, guilty as he was.

"Mr. Oswald, I was an idiot. Honestly. Clara had nothing to do with it. I shouldn't have...I should've…"

Dave patted him on the arm.

"John," he said, warming his smile. "It's okay. Clara told me. You're a decent kid. I like that you're honest. But you can let yourself breathe, okay?"

John let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and returned the smile, though he wasn't hungry anymore. He picked at his food for a minute, feeling Dave's eyes still watching him.

"John," the man repeated.

John looked at him like a deer in headlights.

"John, I want you to know that you're always welcome here."

John's face turned almost as red as Dave's, but the older man forced himself to continue.

"I don't know your whole situation, but...from what I've heard, you're a good kid who deserves a good home. And a family. And, well, as long as you and Clara are happy together...you can be a part of our family."

John blinked hard, staring at the half-eaten turkey in the center of the table to avoid the eyes baring down on him. He didn't know what was stronger in him, the gratitude, the joy, the peace.

Whatever it was, he knew he never wanted it to go.

And so he smiled.

And when Dave stood to put away the leftovers, he jumped out of his seat and threw his arms around him.

He hadn't even realized he was about to do it; he didn't even know this man very well. But something compelled him to keep his arms around him.

Dave patted John's back. When the physics student pulled away, he was wiping at his eyes.

"I'll, er, be right back."

John hurried out of the room, wiping his sleeve across his face as he went. Clara followed close behind him.

She found him in the corridor, leaned against the wall and staring up at the ceiling. She rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

"You okay?" She asked quietly.

John nodded, laughing at himself.

"I'm…" he looked around the space, with its lights and green decorations; its little dents and crayon markings. "I'm happier than I've ever been."

He took her hands in his.

"Clara...thank you."

"For what?"

He shook his head.

"Everything. Literally; every single thing you've done for me."

She gazed into his eyes.

"Thank you for exactly the same," she replied.

Clara's eyes flicked up to the doorway the were stood beneath and smiled. "John."

He looked up and found a little green plant. He rolled his eyes, but his grin widened.

"Mistletoe," he stated.

Clara took his face in between her hands and held his gaze.

"You have a home here, John. Never forget that. Even if you end up on the moon," she chuckled.

He smiled broadly and placed his lips on hers.

John didn't know if 'home' meant this house, or Clara herself. But that didn't matter.

He had a love.

He had a new life.

And this new life, with Clara, was better than anything he'd ever had before.

John smiled his goofy smile for the rest of the night.

And, in fact, for the rest of his life.


End file.
